Lightbringer

by K. D. McEntire

  “Petey, you're loonier than a loony tune,” Elle exclaimed an hour later as Piotr finished detailing the finer points of Wendy's idea. “If you was smart, you'd tell this dumb dora to dry up and beat it.”

  Wendy, who'd promised to be silent while Piotr spoke with the other Riders, stiffened at the insult, but was true to her promise and kept silent. Sensing her discomfort, Lily rose with arms outspread.

  “Elle,” she protested, “Wendy's plan has merit. We are warriors, are we not? And yet we have done little these past months but mourn our fallen and weep for what we have lost. There has been no counting coup! Is it not time to step forward and embrace this chance for retaliation destiny has laid upon our doorstep? Much time has passed; likely the White Lady will not expect a joining of our forces, especially after the recent fragmentation of our tribe. I say we aid Piotr and Wendy—”

  “The Lightbringer,” James interjected, bitterly.

  “Wendy is her given name, the Lightbringer is her duty,” Lily insisted, “and I agree with Wendy's assessment of this opportunity. Now is the time to strike!”

  Elle slapped the wall. “Spoken like a true live wire, Pocahontas, but the thing is, I don't wanna be left holding the bag when this double-crossing tomato gets the lot of us pinched by the White Lady or her Walkers. She already told us that the White Lady wants ol' Pete in trade.”

  “We won't get caught,” Piotr soothed. His vision was fluttering wildly and he was staring at the spot where Elle was standing, hoping against hope that she wouldn't move and leave him addressing empty air. “Wendy's destroyed hundreds of Walkers in the past three months. A few weeks ago you yourself were saying how few we've seen lately. How many could she have left? Ten? Twelve? Between your skills and Wendy's abilities, cornering the White Lady and discovering what she did with the rest of the Lost will be simple.”

  “Says you! You just said that all the White Lady really wants is your head on a platter. What's it to Wendy here if one more ghost goes toes up if she gets her fall guy home? Or her momma? Who, by the way, just happens to be Lightbringer senior.”

  In the corner Wendy stifled a strangled snarl; her lips were pressed tightly together, her eyes narrowed and blazing. Elle smirked at the reaction.

  “Stop the insults, please,” Piotr pleaded. “Eddie's…nice…and I'd like to get his soul back just as much as Wendy would. It's not just Eddie; it's Wendy's mother and our Lost too, can't you see that? There's more at stake here than just your wounded pride, Elle. We promised to protect the Lost. Let's go do that.”

  She snorted, turning her face away. “I've had an earful, Pete. I still think this one's taking you for a ride.”

  “Perhaps,” Piotr said evenly. “But it may bring Dora back, and I think that's a risk I'm willing to take. What about you?”

  Elle considered them in silence for several seconds before answering. “Maybe Pocahontas has a point about revenge being best served chilly. If nothing else, I ain't exactly keen on you walking into Walker central with only this piker at your back. She's likely to shiv you when you ain't looking. So I'm in. But only till we get the Lost out. Then it's back to sixes and sevens with us. You copasetic with that?”

  Sighing in annoyance, Piotr threw up his hands. “Thank you!”

  “You're welcome!”

  “Lily? James?”

  They glanced at one another. “We're in,” James said, tucking his hands behind his head. “But I'm not working with the death dealer. She goes on another team.”

  “Great,” Piotr said, almost laughing with relief. He had expected a much tougher fight from James; the fact that he'd accepted so readily meant that he saw the necessity of them sticking together. “All for one and one for all? We have but four hours until sunset. Let us figure out a game plan.”

  “I'll scout ahead,” James offered. “Meet you at the edge of the business district in two hours?”

  “Sounds good,” Piotr agreed readily and stripped the dagger from his belt. “Take this for protection. Be careful.”

  “Always am,” James said, tucking the dagger into a rough loop secured at his waist. “Keep an eye on Lily for me.” Then he was gone.

  “So talk,” Elle commanded, jerking her chin at Wendy. “What's the plan?”

  Wendy waited for Piotr to nod, releasing her from her promise, before she began speaking. “I went to the Palace Hotel two years ago for one of Chel's cheer camps. I'm not really much for the rah-rahs so I had time to explore. I took the tour and everything. The Palace is old and there's been more than a little emotion attached to it, not all of it good.”

  Wendy held up a hand and started ticking off points. “A king and a president both kicked the bucket there. A couple murders, a couple suicides, nothing any other hotel wouldn't have, but San Francisco's a mighty dramatic place. Death, excitement, romance—you name it, it's happened right there, or at least in the area. So that hotel isn't just an emotional hot zone, it's an emotional war zone.”

  “I am unfamiliar with this area of town. What does this mean?” Lily asked.

  “It means that, since the Palace Hotel was hit by the earthquake of 1906 and the subsequent fires dropped the original building to the ground, it's been built from the ground up at least twice, not counting all the renovations. Blood, sweat, tears, frustration—emotions, Lily, and lots of them, from the residents of the area who had to put up with the noise, from the contractors building the place, and from tourists. Also, the business district grew up around it, so not only do you have the emotional insanity of all that happened inside the building itself and the layers of renovation emotion, you have all that business-related angst surrounding it. Like a big boiler, over a century of human living simmering on high.”

  “Yeah, so?” Elle rolled her eyes and twirled her hand in a hurry-it-up gesture.

  “That means the White Lady trapped herself. Yes, she picked a powerful place to set up shop, but there's also the little fact that the Palace Hotel is still in business today. And it's popular. That means the White Lady can't send Walkers all over the building—even if they don't mind crowds anymore, they'd still get badly burned. Because the building is so old and has such an emotional history, no one—not just us, not just her, none of you—can just walk through some thin spot on the Never side. I've been down there; those walls are rock solid in the Never. No ghost could pass through. You have to take the hallways just as if you were living.”

  “So she must be lurking someplace in the building where not a lot of people go or would be expected to go,” Piotr theorized. “The attic or basement?”

  “Exactly. Which means if we can keep her Walkers away, we've got her trapped. We can force her to tell us where she's keeping the Lost.”

  “Holy crow, the piker's got a good plan,” Elle said, stunned and musing. “I was thinking that going down there's gonna be like storming Little Bighorn, ‘cept our head squaw's a pill this time around.” She glanced at Lily's irritated expression and rolled her eyes. “Oh dry up, Pocahontas, it ain't like you were there. ‘Sides, your guys won that one.”

  “Piotr and I will take the north entrance,” Wendy continued, ignoring the animosity between Lily and Elle. “Elle, you should go with James to the south side, Lily, take the west. It'll be strictly divide and conquer: if you see a Walker, put them down. If there are two, try to lure one away or ambush them. If you have to, run for it.”

  “We are leaving the east side unattended?” Lily frowned, strapping her matching daggers to the loops she'd wrapped around each wrist. “I do not feel this is wise.”

  “I'll take the east,” Elle said. Hopping up, she gathered a supply of ghostly weapons—her bow, several bundles of arrows, and a wicked looking dagger that hung from her hip nearly to her knee. “I'm sure baby James can handle a few widdle Walkers without me.”

  “It's a good plan,” Piotr said when it seemed Wendy would protest. He squeezed her hand meaningfully, glancing at the vast array of weapons Elle was strapping on. “She's tiny, but Elle can handl
e her own, I promise. Spare some steel, Elle?” Piotr held up a hand and Elle kicked a much smaller dagger in his direction.

  “Okay if you say so,” Wendy said, accepting Piotr's advice without question. “We don't have much time until sunset. Let's do this.”

  Piling into her father's car accompanied by the ghosts, Wendy had to turn the heater on full blast to counteract the frigid cold buffeting her. Traveling from the pier to the hotel would have taken little time had they boarded a Muni train, but Wendy wanted an easy getaway. It was her bad luck that rain-slick Embarcadero Street was blocked off due to an accident. Her bad luck held: Wendy struck west, eventually turning onto Mason, where traffic kept them locked at a snail's pace for nearly thirty minutes. Dodging trolleys wasn't Wendy's strong suit.

  By the time they spotted James at the edge of the Financial District, standing helpfully near a miraculously empty parking spot along the road, Wendy was frazzled and irritated—Elle had kept up a stream of snide insults about Wendy's driving the entire way from the pier. When Piotr's hand dropped on her shoulder, Wendy had had it. She jerked away and glared fiercely, uncaring that it was Piotr who was receiving her ire.

  “Is it just me or are those new?” Piotr asked. He pointed up and Wendy blinked in confusion. At first she couldn't see what the fuss was about—part of her thought that perhaps he was having a joke at her expense—and then she spotted the fine interlocking mesh high above, the thin wires of spiritual energy blanketing the Financial District in an effervescent web that filled the sky. Fear rolled in her gut; Wendy's fury drained away.

  “Spirit webs.”

  “Spirit webs,” Piotr agreed. “Thousands of them.”

  “Traps for the unwary,” Lily said. “Snares for the rabbits among us. Look.”

  At the roof level, over two dozen Shades hung by ankle and wrist, some twisted into mummified shapes by the essence-draining webs, some stripped down to their very bones. All were cocooned by the webs, each one struck silent by rope-thick tendrils pushed past their lips and down into their guts.

  “I think I'm gonna upchuck,” Elle said, nearly breathless at the sight. “I thought you was beating your gums about that spirit web earlier, Pete. I'm so sorry…I know I ain't been this way in a dog's age, but those damn things aren't new. I should've spotted ‘em long before now. I let us fall into this one.”

  “Last chance,” James said as Wendy turned off the engine and pocketed the car keys, eyes steadily downcast to keep from having to look up again. Her fingers brushed the envelope still stuffed in her pocket. Later, she promised herself. I'll read it later.

  While the rest of them were reeling with horror over the spectacle above, Lily filled James in on Wendy's plan. “We can still turn back and go home. There are other ways to win their freedom.”

  “The White Lady's set up one hell of a trap,” Wendy replied, making certain her father's car was locked tight. “Spirit webs, Walkers, and now my best friend's soul. I'm not falling for it and neither should you. You want the Lost back? We're going to go get them, and this time show the White Lady and all her creepy Walkers that the Riders aren't ghosts to be messed with ever again.”

  “Dunn is in there,” Lily agreed. Dunn's cap was tightly clenched in her fist, the bill resting against her thigh. “I would no more turn back now than turn my face away from the Light.”

  “Yeah, well we might get sent into the Light,” Elle said. She wrapped a companionable arm around Lily's waist. “But Dora's somewhere in there, so I'm all in. Come on, you ducky doll. When all this is over we'll hit the closest juice joint that serves the likes of us. I'll line the soldiers up and you can knock ‘em down. In the morning we'll swig some hair of the dog and do it all over again.”

  “Did you see anything?” Piotr asked James as Lily and Elle began striding almost in tandem down the sidewalk, weapons at the ready and avoiding trailing strands of spirit web.

  “Only a cadre of Walkers leading some Lost towards the Palace,” James said grimly. “Your lady friend is right. Looks like the White Lady is planning a soiree up at the big house.” His lips twitched. “I can smell lynching in the air, Piotr. Are you certain that you truly want to go through with this?”

  “Dora, Dunn, and Tommy are in there,” Piotr replied. “Not to mention the others. If I have to put a rope around my own neck, I'd do it a dozen times to see them safe.”

  “You might have to.” James glanced at Wendy. “Sunset's coming, girl.”

  Her stomach felt like lead. Wendy nodded once. “Lead the way.”

  Familiar with the Financial District, James was able to skirt the most dangerous zones, his outstretched arm stopping Wendy from walking into nearly imperceptible films of spirit web strung between buildings from roof to basement several times. When they reached the Palace he broke away from the group and headed for the south entrance without a word, dreadlocks bobbing with every step.

  “All he has is your knife,” Wendy noted as James' braids vanished around the corner.

  “He's stronger than you'd think,” Piotr replied in an undertone. “I've seen him take down Walkers barehanded before. James will be fine. Are you ready?”

  Wendy glanced over her shoulder as she reached for the entrance door. The sky was a rapidly darkening grey, a mass of rain clouds as high as the surrounding mountainside gathered on the horizon. “I'm ready.”

  Piotr let his breath out in a gust. “This way.”

  The walls of the Palace Hotel in the Never were just as firm and strong as Wendy remembered. Piotr pressed one hand against the wall and was unable to push through. Satisfied, Wendy grinned. They couldn't easily get in, but then again, she couldn't easily get out. It was perfect.

  Assuming a purposeful walk, Wendy kept her gaze level and her expression a touch bored. She'd learned long ago that most adults ignored teenagers and children so long as they appeared to be intent on some mundane task or otherwise occupied and didn't appear to be loitering or making trouble. It was as if life didn't really start until twenty-one. This sort of benign blindness had let Wendy slide in and out of several very important buildings during the past months; if caught, she just claimed to be waiting for her dad to get off work, or apologized profusely (dancing slightly side to side, of course) and asked directions to the closest bathroom. These tricks almost always worked.

  Wendy had no way of knowing it, but she was extra lucky. The Palace staff was well trained and particular about making sure every guest who walked through their doors was seen to. On a normal day her appearance would have been noted and dealt with immediately. Today, however, was different. Not only was it the Palace Hotel's evening rush, but they were hosting a junior debate conference that weekend; the vast entrance foyer was stuffed to bursting with groups of milling students, teachers, and chaperones and their bags. Wendy was lost in the crowd and easily able to sneak through an Employee Only entrance behind a bustling pair of bellhops burdened with bags. They took the elevator up, and Wendy snuck silently down the stairs with Piotr at her heels.

  “I wonder how the others are doing,” he said as Wendy reached the ground floor.

  “They're resourceful,” Wendy said, reaching into her pocket and producing a bellboy's employee badge that she'd filched from his back pocket in the overcrowded lobby. “And so,” she swiped the badge against the card reader; above the reader, the light flashed from red to green, “am I. Come on.”

  “Are you going to change?” Piotr asked as the door snicked shut behind them. The basement was pitch black, the dense darkness almost velvet with dust and quiet.

  “I don't dare, not yet,” she whispered. “Unless you're ready to go to the Light right now.”

  “I didn't think of that,” Piotr hissed.

  “It's okay, I did. Now shut up, let me think!”

  After several minutes her eyes adjusted, but the darkness was still nearly complete. Wendy was able to push off from the wall and maneuver her way across the room mostly by touch, avoiding the sharp corners of neatly stacked boxes an
d a large plastic bin overflowing with cottony, plush fabric.

  “Bedspreads,” she whispered. “I think.”

  “Have you seen a single Walker?” Piotr asked. “Because I haven't.”

  “There's a reason for that,” said a voice behind them and Piotr felt a sharp pinch on the back of his neck. Lights blared into existence—across the vast expanse of basement, several Walkers systematically stripped the blackout sheets away from the windows in the Never as another group flicked on the lights. Wendy blinked against the glare. Her eyes were seeing the two worlds pressed together, hotel lights brilliant in the Never but dark in the living world. The Never was stronger here, stronger than she'd ever seen it before, and the living world was fading from view fast.

  “Amazing,” the White Lady said, “what a little bit of time and preparation can do.”

  They were, Wendy realized, in a vast Never ballroom, the walls rounded at the corners and festooned with sweeps of gaily painted decorations. Here and there long, thin cracks in the walls were mending before her very eyes as the living people above went about their daily business and the multitude of students revved up for the next day's competition. If she concentrated, Wendy could just make out the edges of the real world beyond the intense brilliance of the basement, but the Never was too dazzling to ignore for long.

  Dozens of Walkers lined the walls like ancient, rotting wallflowers, their hoods flung back, each one marked with long, fresh wounds, still seeping, that had been roughly sewn closed with hanks of black twine. It was the far wall, however, that caught Wendy's attention. The missing Lost—a dozen of them—huddled together, bound hand and foot like an under-aged chain gang beneath a temporary stage that winked in and out of existence as the Palace, pulsing with energy, cycled through the ages and all the renovations it had been through.